Families & The Such
by MissGuenever
Summary: A set of fics about the Flacks; and what made Don Flack Jr into the man he is today. Some pre-series, going from him as a child to adulthood. Covering topics from childhood, siblings and apartment life. If you don't like one; try another chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: I know you're supposed to figure out how to explain all your characters quickly. I'm cutting myself a break here. Sam (per CBS established story line) is Don's sister. As I'm only up to Season 2; I've decided that she is his younger sister. And instead of going to Stuyvesant High School (NYC's public high school for the sciences) she somehow managed to get a full scholarship to Mary Baldwin's high school program. MB is an all-girls college in Virginia which has a boarding school program for high school students (or at least it had one).

I'm also sure that I should have figured out a couple of other things; but, I'm stuck in my Firefly story, and this is providing me a plot break from the theology of organic farming – which if anyone has ideas on – shoot me a message. Who knew that organic farming was biblical? Not me.

"Donnie, can you come get me?"

"I'm not coming down to Virginia."

"Uhhh…. Ummmm…."

Don Flack sighed in frustration. "Sam where are you?"

"The 13th."

"What the fuck are you doing there? You're supposed to be in school!" His boiling point was rapidly being reached; it had been another long day. He'd pulled a double shift and wanted nothing more than to go home and go to bed; but, no he had to trek across the city and save his little sister from yet another stupid escapade. He calmed himself down and loosened his tie. "Let me talk to the officer."

Samantha passed the phone over to the desk sergeant. _Crap this sucked, there was really no way Pop wasn't hearing about this now._ She watched his eyebrows go up as he tapped his pen on the desk. _Yep, Don had said his name. The second the frigging Flack name got used; Christ just because everyone in the Flack family was a cop. Still Donnie coming down would be better then Pop coming down._

Sargeant Smith; R. Smith his name tag stated. Sergeant was the rank on his uniform shirt. He tapped the drivers license on the desk and raised an eyebrow at Samantha. "So, Kaitlyn Schultes isn't quite right."

Samantha looked at her feet, the scared desk, anything but Sergeant R. Smith. She knew she had to answer him. "Mmmm… No."

"Well, kid. What is your name?" Ron Smith had kids of his own; and he'd been a teenager. He didn't feel any sympathy for the teen; she'd gotten herself into the mess all by herself.

"Samantha. Samantha Flack."

He paused for a second, fingers above the keyboard. "Don's youngest."

"Yeah; Donnie's little sister." Sam really didn't feel like claiming Donald Flack Sr at the moment. Everyone knew Pop; and word always seemed to get back to him. Which meant BAD news for her when he found out. Why couldn't the blue line start and end at the hospital? Why did it have to include 'watching out for the family'?

"Uh huh."

"Please don't tell Pop."

Sergeant Smith raised an eyebrow at this. "Ya know kid. I know you don't get it now; but, someday you will. I'll protect your family and I trust your dad will protect my family."

Sam blushed; and stared at her feet. Donnie had warned her about this; said to keep her nose out of trouble. Cause no matter what happened Pop would find out about it. It didn't matter that there were nineteen freaking million people in the city. Don Flack Senior would find out. Fuck it sucked being a cop's kid.

Sam kept staring at her feet wishing she had her iPod or something; the evening wasn't supposed to go like this. She'd borrowed her roommate's Sue's fake ID and taken the train up from school in Virginia, met up with her friends from LaGuardia High. They were going out to celebrate Nick's eighteenth birthday. But, like every other time in her life when she'd tried to do something without telling her family: it hadn't gone according to plan. Nope, Nick and Cassie got in a yelling match outside the club where they gone to see some hot new group that Madison had been raving about. Then they couldn't get in because Jim's ID was too crappy that even a half-stoned bouncer could tell it was fake. So they'd ended up getting a bottle of Jim Beam and heading back to Stuyvesant Town where Cassie lived and Sam was crashing for the weekend. And then Nick, Jim and Pete got into a shoving match on the sidewalk which was why she was sitting in the fricking thirteenth precinct waiting for Donnie to come get her. They were all over eighteen so they'd been cited for being idiots and let go; but, Samantha was seventeen. Frigging Cassie had let it slip that Sam was seventeen; between her age and the bottle of Jim she had to have someone get her. And it looked like Sue's ID was going to get confiscated.

"Detective Flack."

"Ron. How's it going?" Sam's head snapped up. It felt like she'd just closed her eyes.

"Donnie." She jumped up to give him a hug.

He hugged her back; it had been too long since they'd seen each other. He then turned his piercing blue eyes onto her. "Sit."

_Fuck, if he was this pissed at her there was no way Pop wasn't going to find out. _Sam swung her legs a few times listening to him and Ron Smith (she could hear the sarcasm dripping from his name in her head) talk about sports, what Don Senior had been up to, and other stupid crap.

Don turned back to his Samantha. His baby sister had been in Alphabet City. He knew mom and dad had forbidden her from going there. When he was in high school they'd forbidden him going there, which had pretty much sucked because there were some really good parties and clubs down that way.

"Come on Sam. Let's go." Don looked at his watch and groaned inwardly; he'd been up for twenty-four hours. He took the paperwork from Sgt Smith; he was a really good guy; played cards with Pop occasionally. "We should make it home for breakfast."

That perked him up a little. Mom made killer breakfasts.

"Come on Don. Can't you just drop me at the train station? I've got classes Monday. Pop's gonna kill me."

He glared at her and propelled her into the car. "And they'll both kill me if I don't bring you home."

"Fine. You suck. I used to let you sneak in my window when you were busting curfew. And you won't even cover for me once. You frigging suck."

"Sneaking in a window a couple hours late is one thing. Being in Alphabet City, five hundred miles from where your seventeen year old sister is supposed to be in school is a whole 'nother thing." Don expertly wove in and out of the early morning traffic making pretty good time.

"Dude, you sound like Pop." Sam pouted. She really didn't feel like dealing with stupid adults right now. "Can I at least have Sue's ID back?"

Don sighed. He knew how hard it was to get an ID and that Sue would be pissed if she didn't get her ID back. "Yeah I suppose. But, I hear about you using it again and I'll kill you."

Sam watched their neighborhood coming into focus. The streets were still quiet because it was so early.

"Well, speaking of Pop." Don parked the car and looked up at the small neat house where they'd been brought up. Don Flack Senior was coming outside to get the newspaper.

"Crap. Can't you say I'm here to surprise Mom or something."

"Uh… looking at the thundercloud on his face; I don't think so." Don opened the car door. "Morning Pop."

_Crap, this was going to suck._ Sam opened the door and shuffled out of car. She looked up at their father. "Morning Pop." _He was so going to kick her ass!_

"Mother's expecting you two in the house for breakfast." Donald Flack Senior looked at his son; before he gave a stern stare at his youngest.

And that was that. That was the end of the discussion. Donald Flack Junior knew how this discussion would end after breakfast; he'd had similar ones several times. God he was glad he was an adult.

"I gotta go Pop. I just pulled a double." Don headed into the house to kiss mom good morning before he headed back out to crash for six hours. Hopefully, crash for six hours. He did not envy Sam her position; but, he knew it. He'd been in similar spots several times as a teenager.


	2. Altar Boy v2

**A/N (v2):** I'm really sorry about this; but, I found a couple logic errors in this while I was finishing the second half; so I'm reposting the first half and posting the second half.

**A/N**: Thanks to **ASCHATRIA** and **Voetsek007** for adding me to your favorites! I love you. My muse is kind of back on my Firefly story; I'm still stuck on an ending though. I really don't want it to go longer than 20 chapters; so I'm working on figuring out how end the story in 20 chapters. So this dabble is when Don and Samantha were kids. I'm guessing that Don is about 8 years older than Samantha; which I can't substantiate (which is a point of irritation to me). And Patrick is somewhere between Don and Samantha.

"Donnie give it back."

"Come and take it little girl." Don Flack Jr held his little sister's Barbie doll over Samantha's head.

"That's mine. Give it back."

Don jumped on the bed dangling the doll loosely out of one hand. "Come and get it, munchkin."

"Grrrr…." Sam growled at her sixteen year old brother. It totally sucked that he was so much bigger than her. She stalked over to the bed. "Give it to me."

"Nah…"

Sam's temper snapped. Don was always taking her stuff, and if it wasn't Don it was Patrick. Most of the time they didn't even want it – they were just taking it to be mean. She rushed the bed and shoved Don with everything she had. "Give me back Melie! You jackass! I hate you!"

Don hadn't been expecting Sam to rush him; usually she just went whining to Mom. He lost his balance and tumbled backwards. With a crash his head hit his square headboard and he fell into the wall. Don sat up, grabbed his head, and stared at his hand which was now covered in blood. "Fuck."

"Donald, Samantha I do not want to hear that language in this house." Their mom's voice floated up the stairs; Sam started backing out of Don and Patrick's room as quick as she could.

"Mom, Donnie's bleeding." She ran down the stairs as fast as she could. "Mom! Mom!"

"What?" The matriarch of the Flack clan asked her youngest irritably. It was Wednesday; she was trying to put the finishing touches on the night's corned beef and cabbage dinner. Corned beef on the first Wednesday of the month was a Flack family tradition. It had taken her years to learn to make according to the recipe that her husband's mother had brought from Ireland.

The mom voice came out. "Don get down here, now! Samantha what's bleeding?

Sam was starting to feel pretty guilty; she'd just wanted her Barbie back. "His head, there's a lot of blood." Sam started crying. "Mommy."

"I'm coming." She ran up the stairs; a little blood wasn't that big a deal. But, head wounds were always worrisome.

"It wasn't my fault; I swear it wasn't my fault." Sam cried following her mom into the boy's room.

Don was sitting on the floor, holding his head with blood leaking out between his fingers.

"Oh Donnie; what happened?" He looked like an innocent small and frightened child; her little boy. Going back to her first aid training she ordered her youngest "Get towels." When Sam just sat there sniveling against the hallway wall; she barked "Now!"

Sam skittered off to grab towels while Don got helped into the bathroom. Mrs. Flack grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and holding Don's head over the sink she dumped a chunk of it over the gash in his head. He yelped. "Mom, are you killing him? Is he going to be okay?" Sam asked from the door, clutching a Barbie doll hovering in a classic guilt-ridden stance.

Dabbing at the gash which was down to just oozing she talked to Sam over her shoulder "He'll be fine. You going to tell me how it happened?"

"It wasn't my fault. Honest."

"Samantha Marie Flack." It was a tone that would bring grown men to their knees.

Sam shuffled her feet and couldn't bring herself to say anything.

"Samantha; you'd better start talking."

"He took Melie. I was trying to get her pretty for when I go over to Jessica's house tomorrow after school." Sam was almost in tears again. "He said he was going to take her head off; like he did on my Malibu Barbie. And… And…"

She dabbed a bit harder than was probably needed at her son's head. It irritated her that the boys like to bug their little sister; but, most of the time she gave as good as she got. And a lot of the time she actually started it.

"Donald; why did you have your doll?"

"Ouch, Mom, that hurts. Ow…" He tried to move his head away only to have it held in place. "Ow… She was being a brat when I was playing basketball today. Ow. Mom! And she took my alarm clock apart."

"You're okay. It isn't going to need stitches. Samantha change Don's sheets; bring the dirty ones downstairs."

"Mo-om. It isn't like he uses the clock."

"Samantha Marie. Do it now."

"Yes, Ma'am." She knew defeat when she faced it and grudgingly headed to the stinky boy's room. She grabbed sheets from the hall in the closet; grabbed the sheets off his bed; used the pillow case to wipe the blood off the headboard; and managed to kick the alarm clock that she hadn't managed to quite get back together. It wasn't her fault that there were a few too many parts in it. Parts she hadn't figured out what they quite did in the stupid alarm clock.

Sam trudged down the stairs carrying the smelly bloody sheets. "Samantha put those in the wash; and then get back up here."

"Yes, Ma'am." This was so not going to be a good night. Life just sucked.

By the time that Samantha got back upstairs Don was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and his backpack. "Mom I don't wanna do homework."

"You have a C in Algebra. I saw Mrs Lipinski in D'agastino's yesterday; and she said you haven't been turning in homework. So start working." She turned away from the stove where she was checking on the cabbage. "You." She pointed the spoon at Samantha. "Do you have homework?"

Looking at the very stern face of her mother; Sam mumbled "No, ma'am."

"Corner."

"But, mom!" _This was so totally unfair. _The spoon seemed to levitate and smacked Sam in the butt; hard!

"Corner. Now."

Sam slouched to the corner that had nose prints from all three Flack children. Looking up she could see the print that Patrick left last week when he'd skipped school. Mom had found out from Mr Jarvis' mother who volunteered at the Police Auxiliary's thrift shop with the neighbor Ms. Burke who then told mom. Needless to say mom wasn't happy; and Patrick spent a couple hours in the corner waiting for pop to come home.

There were the prints from Don last week when he'd sassed mom about being an altar boy; that hadn't gone over too well. And well crap here she was in the same boat. Standing in the corner waiting for pop to come home.

Sam looked over at Don and he mouthed "_you are so going to get your ass kicked_."

"Samantha, keep your nose in the corner. Donald do NOT antagonize your sister or you will find yourself in a corner too."

The thought went through both of the younger Flack's mind that the evening was totally going to suck.

**A/N**: I think this is a part one of two thing. I didn't intend it to be this way. I'm not really sure; I do kind of like leaving it with the whole cliffie thing. Because I don't really know how to end it. Ideas would be greatly welcomed.


	3. Corned Beef & Cabbage

**A/N**: This isn't really a third chapter; more of a second part to the second chapter. **Wolfeylady** thanks for adding me to your alert list; you make me feel important! I've made the decision that Don is the oldest son; than Patrick, then Samantha. It makes sense in my little world that Don is the oldest; because, he is a junior and that from what I've seen goes to the eldest son.

-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-…-

Don sat at the kitchen table struggling through the latest set of problems that Mrs Lipinski had assigned. He hated algebra; who cared how long it took a frigging train to get to Missoula from Butte? Pop should be getting home soon. He looked over at Samantha slouched in the corner of the kitchen; she'd been there for almost an hour. It was awful being stuck in the corner like that; all three of them had too much experience in that corner.

"Don homework." He looked up at his mom who was getting plates down from the cabinet. "When you're done; set the table."

"Yes, Ma'am." He only had a couple of problems left; he could finish them tomorrow before class. "I've only got a couple of problems left. I can finish them later."

"Finish them now." Momma Flack knew her eldest; if he stopped now there would be an excuse on why he couldn't do it after dinner. She stacked the plates on the table, with glasses, napkins, and silverware.

Don grumbled under his breath and went back to work. Samantha sighed from the corner and thumped her head against the wall.

"Samantha." Don's head came up when he heard "_the mom voice_" come out. That voice meant bad things would happen if you kept up whatever you were doing.

"Lucy, I'm home." The sound of the door opening and the usual greeting that Donald Flack Sr gave his wife had Don looking up from the last problem and rolling his eyes at his mother's giggle. He could hear his dad going through the routine of hanging up his jacket, putting his gun away, and taking his shoes off. No one dared wear shoes in Mama Flack's house. Even Father Flannery took his shoes off.

"In here; dinner's in ten minutes." She turned from the stove to give husband of twenty years a kiss.

"Hey gorgeous; how was your day?" The senior Flack's leaned in on each other drawing strength from each other, and enjoying each other's presence for a few seconds. It was a ritual that they shared every day, one of the small rituals of marriage.

"Interesting; saw Mrs. Lipinski at D'agastino's today."

Don Sr wrinkled his brow and turned towards his namesake. "Isn't that your math teacher?

Don nodded and studiously turned back to the last problem; he really didn't want to discuss this now. "Sammy what are you doing in the corner?"

Sam turned and shuffled her feet. "Samantha, tell your father what happened. Don set the table; finish that last problem right after dinner."

Don jumped up and moved his books from the table putting out the four plates, glasses, and silverware. Patrick was eating at a friend's house. They had a science project due the following week. Don Sr arched an eyebrow at his youngest as he sat at the table. "Samantha what happened? Come here."

Samantha went and sat on her father's lap. "Donnie stole Melie, and wouldn't give her back."

"Pop, she took my alarm clock apart." Don Sr help up his hand to silence his son."

"I tried to put it back together." Sam's lip went out as she tried to not cry. "I followed him into his room. He was holding Melie and wouldn't give her back. He's mean."

"Samantha." Don Sr gently prodded his little girl to continue.

"Dad she shoved me." Don carried the serving dish to the table and sat down.

"Donald. Let her finish."

"He wouldn't give her back; and he was mean. I… I… I shoved him. I'm real sorry. Honest, I didn't think he'd fall. I just wanted Melie back; I wanted her to look pretty for Jessica tomorrow." Donnie showed the gash in head to their father.

Don Sr closed his eyes for a second. He loved his children dearly; but, there were times they drove him nuts.

"He called me munchkin. I hate it when he does that."

"We'll deal with this after dinner; your mom has prepared a wonderful dinner." He leaned over and kissed his wife as she sat down. Don looked around the table and started the blessing "Bless us, O God, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ our Lord, Amen."

Plates were passed and small talk was made. They talked about Mrs Burke's arthritis; Don's upcoming basketball game; Pat's catechism class; the A Samantha got on her science test; and what one of the rookies at the station, Ronnie Smith, had screwed up on. What they didn't talk about was what had happened after school upstairs.

Corned beef and cabbage was every ones favorite dinner. It didn't take too long for everyone to be finished. "Donnie you do the dishes; Sammie clear the table for him."

"Mom, it's not my night to do dishes." Don whined; he hated doing dishes. The only response he got was an arched eyebrow. Samantha started clearing the table, scraping the dishes, and piling them near the sink.

"Samantha don't drag your feet." She followed her husband into the living room for a few minutes of quiet time. "When you're done with that come in here; Donnie when you're done with the dishes finish your homework."

"Yes, ma'am." Grudgingly came out of the sibling's mouths. Sam finished first and walked into the living room. Don thought she looked like Marie Antoinette heading to the guillotine; they'd been going through the French Revolution in Global Studies. History wasn't that bad of a class; and oh crap he had an essay due Monday.

He craned his ears as he heard Sam head upstairs and then their father's heavier tread as he followed her upstairs. Donnie scrubbed the pot that held the corned beef; doing dishes sucked. But, it was better than getting the spanking that Sam was getting. He'd been in her spot more than once and knew exactly what was happening. At least when he was done he'd hold her and rub her back and tell her that all was forgiven. It still sucked.

He finished the dishes and heard Pop come downstairs his tread slow. He listened and scrubbed; at least he didn't have to dry the dishes. Mom would let them drip dry by the sink overnight and put them away while she made breakfast. The television turned on; basketball. The Knicks were playing. Crap; he didn't want to miss it. "Mom the dishes are done."

"Good; finish your math. I'm going to look at it when you're done."

Sweet; half a problem left. Don grabbed his books from the corner and sat back down at the table. No use trying to finish in the living room or upstairs; Mom would send him back to the kitchen _– too many distractions in his room and the TV was on in the living room_.

"Hey mom, pop. I'm home. We got our project done." Patrick slung the door open bouncing it off the inside wall.

"Patrick honey; did you get dinner?"

"Yep. Oooh, you got the game on. What quarter?"

Damn, this sucked. Algebra was awful! This last problem was hard.

"Second." Don Sr grunted.

"Go get washed up and ready for bed. You watch some of it after. Did you get all your homework done?"

"Yeah; Dominic and I did it before dinner." Don could hear Patrick head up the stairs.

"Be quiet Patrick; your sister is sleeping."

_Hah! Done; finally._ "Mom I'm done." Don sprang up from the table grabbed his homework and tore into the living room. He handed the hated homework to his mom and settled onto the couch switching his focus to the game.

"Good job; bring home your missing assignments tomorrow."

"Huh?" Donnie didn't take his eyes off the TV.

"You're going to turn in ALL the missing assignments on Monday."

"Ma… I've got stuff going on this weekend." Five assignments would take forever to do; his date with Sonya wasn't going to happen if he had to all that on top of the essay for history, and the biology lab write-up.

"And you can still do it; once you get your homework done."

"Mom."

"Donald; don't give your mother any lip." He looked down at his watch. "Go get ready for bed."

"Awww… pop; can't I watch the rest of the quarter."

Don Sr arched his eyebrow at his son and watched his son slowly head up the stairs backwards trying to watch as much of the game as he could.


	4. Smokin' In The Boys Room

**A/N**: Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing - **afrozenheart412**, **ASCHATRIA**, **wolfeylady** and everyone else who has read it. Now if I could just figure out where Extra Cargo is going… And if anyone has ideas on where this dabble should go… I'd be greatly appreciative.

"Dude; Donnie you are such a frigging goody-two shoes."

"Shut up, Pat!"

"We're just going to have a little fun."

"This isn't a _little_ fun. This is insane!" Donnie ran his hands through his shaggy hair; mom had been on him to get a haircut. He just hadn't had a chance between school, practice, and Marina. Marina Torres. Plus, Marina liked his hair long.

Patrick Flack glared at his brother; dad's golden child. He even wanted to be a cop; just like dear old dad. _God, this family sucked_,_ I can't do anything without someone finding out_. Pat kicked the garbage can in the alley behind their house. "Fucking goody-two shoes.

"I ain't helping you." Don turned and stalked into their yard. Pat's insane little plan wasn't sneaking cigarettes in the empty lot a block down or something stupid; Pop would find out. He always did, and Don didn't want to get his butt busted for something like this. He had plans this weekend with Marina.

"Asshole; it isn't a big deal." Pat yelled at Don's retreating back. Actually it was going to be a big deal; the party at the hedge maze was going to be epic. It would go down in history! He just needed Don's help to get some of the booze there. Don had his drivers' license; they could hide the booze in the trunk. Plus, Pat had pooled with Gio, and the rest of the guys to give Donnie bribe money; but, no… Donnie was a fucking goody-two shoes. Pat headed down the alley; maybe Gio would have a cigarette he could bum. He was out.

Donnie walked through the small backyard heading to the house; there wasn't any way he was going to drive booze for Pat's party. He had a date with Marina. Plus, if pop found out. When pop found out he wouldn't ever drive again. And pop said he could borrow the car for his date.

"Donnie, Donnie, Donnie!"

"What?" _Jeese, Sam can you be any shriekier_. "What? What?"

"I did it; I got your alarm clock back together! I did it.

"Oh boy." Ma had made Sam use her birthday money to buy him a new alarm clock after she'd taken his apart last month. "It only took you a month to get it back together, munchkin."

Sam bared her teeth at him and growled; she didn't kick him as much as she wanted to. Ma was close enough to smack her with the spoon. She stuck her tongue out at her seventeen year old brother. "You suck. I'm not a munchkin."

"Samantha, language. Don don't pick on your sister." She looked around at her oldest and youngest and wondered where her fifteen year old was. "Where's your brother?"

"Uhh… He was in the alley; I think he was meeting Gio or something."

"Mmm… make sure he's back in time for dinner." Mama Flack worried about her youngest, he had a penchant for getting into trouble. "Tell Gio he can come too. It's meatloaf."

"Awww… Ma; do I need to? I've got stuff to go."

"Yeah, talking to that girl. Go on."

"Ma can I go too? Please." Samantha asked jumping up and down staring at her brother who was shaking his head no.

"Donnie take your sister."

"Awww… Ma do I gotta?"

She arched an eyebrow at him; she didn't need to say anything.

"Come on munchkin." For once she didn't seem to mind being called that and she bounced out the door following her big brother out the door. They walked down to the corner and into the empty lot where Pat and Gio hung out and smoked cigarettes. "Hey, dorks."

"Paddy, Paddy, Paddy. Ma says you gotta come home for dinner."

Pat quickly crushed out his butt; hoping that Don didn't see him smoking. "What?"

"Ma says you gotta come home for dinner Pat." He looked over at Gio "You comin'? Ma made meatloaf."

"Ummm…" Gio hemmed and hawed; it was pretty common for Gio to eat with the Flacks.

"Meatloaf." Don prompted turning to head home.

"Yeah; I could eat." Gio loved meatloaf night; it was probably his favorite meal Mrs. Flack made.

The four started walking back home; Don reached into his back pocket and grabbed a pack of Wrigley's. "Here."

Pat looked up in surprise. "Huh?"

"Ma's gonna kill you if you smell like smoke."

"Thanks." _Donnie isn't always a complete dick._

Don rolled his eyes at the surprise in Pat's eyes. "I ain't gonna tell her; munchkin isn't either." He looked at Sam with a clear set of instructions in his eyes "But, you know she's gonna find out."

The three Flack kids and Gio went through the front door. "Ma we're home; Gio's here too."

"That's fine; go wash-up." Another typical night in the Flack household; an extra person at the table. She'd better mash a couple extra potatoes. Gio needed some meat on his bones; his mother didn't feed him right.


	5. Confirmation

**A/N**: I actually don't think I have any authors notes on this one. Hmmm… I guess I could think of something. Well, I really like coffee ice cream and men from Montana. Oh wait; I married one. I love you Montana (yep, he got called that all through college).

"Ma, my hair isn't going change the more you comb it." Twelve year old Donald Flack Jr whined trying to pull away from his mother.

"Donald; you are going to look good for church. It is your confirmation; and you are not going to look like a hoodlum!"

"Mommy, mommy, … Patty pulled my pigtails out." Four old Samantha ran into the boy's bedroom almost in tears. "I wanna to look pretty for Donnie's 'firmation." Mommy and Daddy said it was really important.

"Patrick James Flack; you sit your bottom on the couch now! Leave your sister alone. Don't make me come down there. Don stop squirming while I fix your tie. You are receiving the sacrament of confirmation today; sealing your bond with God and marking you as an adult in the eyes of the church."

"Ma…"

"You look amazing my son. Now go sit downstairs on the couch with your brother. Don't mess with your brother; and don't get dirty." She yelled down the stairs "Patrick; Don is coming to sit on the couch with you. Don't you two start anything!"

"Mommy is it my turn?" Mama Flack looked at her baby girl standing in the door in her flowered pinafore holding a ratty stuffed bunny.

She dropped her voice down to a much gentler tone. "Come on baby; let's go into your room and fix your hair."

Sam looked down at the pretty red sparkly shoes mommy had gotten her for Donnie's 'firmation before starting to her pink. "I like my new shoes mommy."

Mrs Flack shook her head in amusement. She missed her boys being this age. "I'm glad you do; we've gotta hurry. We don't want to be late for church." She turned her head towards the bedroom she shared with Don Sr. "Honey, are you about ready? We need to leave soon."

From behind the door the elder Don Flack growled "I hate ties." _Why did this have to be on a Sunday? And there a big lunch thing after church; which means I'll miss the game. _"Are you going to come and fix it?"

"I'll be there in a minute; go downstairs and make sure Donnie and Pat don't get into any trouble."

"Yes dear."

"Come on baby." She heard the thudding of her husband of fifteen years heading towards the living room and fixed Sammy's pigtails and her ribbons. "There you go; come on baby lets go get the boys."

"Mommy, you look pretty." Sammy skipped down the stairs. This was really exciting; Donnie was getting 'firmed. Mommy, Mrs Loft, and Sister Mary said getting 'firmed was really important. "When do I get 'firmed? Like Donnie."

"Confirmed, honey, confirmed. Not 'firmed. You'll get confirmed after Patrick; soon you'll do your first communion." She picked up the new coat she'd gotten on sale at Macy's last week for today. "Donnie, Pat get your coats on. Donald are you ready?"

The two slick haired suit and tie wearing boys grudgingly got off the couch. ESPN was much more exciting than church; although Don was looking forward to the lunch afterwards. Mrs Morelli was making cannoli; and Dad had gotten three Yankee's tickets as a present for getting confirmed. And he was going to take him and Bobby to the game on Saturday.

"Pat help your sister put her sweater on. Don stop fidgeting; you'll scuff your new shoes." Don Sr kissed his wife as she barking out directions to all of them, a lot like one of the drill sergeants he'd had back in boot camp, and held the front door open sheparding his family out the door for the three block walk to St. Fidelis.


	6. Sunday Ragu redeaux

**A/N:** Well; crud. I put up the wrong document. I apologize greatly to everyone who reads my stuff.

I think everyone has ideas of where people learn things. I think Don learned his love of wine at the dining room table from his parents; the same place I learned to enjoy wine.

Thanks **Peckk** **wolfeylady**, and **Aschatria**, love you all.

Don Flack Sr looked around the Sunday table at his family - his namesake Donald Flack Jr at seventeen wanted to be a cop; the Patrick who at thirteen who wanted nothing more than to be a singing basketball player; and his baby girl Sammy who at nine said she wanted to design cars in Detroit. Then there was his wife; his beautiful wife of almost twenty years his sexy sweet tough woman.

"Donnie; start the linguini." Donnie grabbed the big bowl of linguini that mom had made that day; she said that the store bought stuff wasn't as good as hers. So she rolled her own pasta, and would cover the entire kitchen in flour.

Pat grabbed the bowl of linguini from his brother; Ma's ravioli was his favorite. But, this was his second favorite. Ragù was his second favorite Sunday dinner; ma usually only made it on special occasions. It took forever to cook; he could smell the pot simmering all day with tomatoes and onions from dad's little garden, sweet and hot sausage, pork chunks, and braciole. "Ma can I have a piece of the braciole."

"In a minute; I've gotta cut it up." She watched her husband take the bowl from Pat and give Sam some linguini and then take a plate for himself.

Don Sr rose from the table; put the bowl of linguini on the counter, wrapped his arms around his wife and nuzzled her neck. "Do you need help dear?"

From behind them the two elder Flacks could hear the gagging sounds from all three kids. And doing what any responsible parent would do in this situation they started making out in earnest. "Gross." That was from Sam.

"Mom, Dad I'm dying here. We're wasting away." Patrick chimed in on a slightly lower note.

"Inappropriate." Donnie was at the age where he thought everything his parents did was not proper.

Now that the ritual was done for the week; Mrs Donald Flack Sr. smiled as she started slicing the braciole, pulling off the string holding the roll together, and laying it on a serving tray. Don took the bottle of Long Island red wine he'd gotten from Mr. Kuzmano down the street. "This is supposed to be a really nice merlot."

Don Sr kept with the Sunday ritual and wiped down the five wine glasses that had been set on the counter earlier when Patrick had set the table. He put a tablespoon of water and a tablespoon of red wine into two of the glasses; the third he put in about an ounce of the wine; the fourth and fifth he filled about a third of the way up.

"Can we eat now?" The sauce had been passed; and Patrick needed to fill his hollow leg.

"One second." Don Sr said; he put the two full glasses in front his and his wife's plates; the small glass went to his namesake; and the two watered down glasses went in front of Pat and Sam. "We gotta wait for your mom."

"Bon Appetit." She set the platter of stuffed beef down. She used her mom's recipe and stuffed the pounded beef round with pancetta, romano, garlic, and parsley from the window boxes on the porch. The platter quickly got passed around; everyone put pieces on their linguini and the pot of sauce with meatballs, sausage, and pork shoulder pieces. Samantha reached for a slice of fresh bread. "Samantha, let your father say grace."

"Bless us, O God, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ our Lord, Amen."

"Ma this is awesome." Patrick talked around the lump of sausage he crammed in his mouth as soon as his father said Amen.

"Patty don't talk with your mouth full." It was like this at every meal; Patrick would hover over his flatware until the go was given. Like a horse at the starting line of a race.

Don Sr picked up his wine glass and swirled it moving the garnet red liquid around in it. Don Jr imitated his father and smelled the aromas coming from the balloon glass and how they intermingled with the rich smell of the tomatoes, meat, onions, garlic, and cheese. "Can you smell the oaky overtones? The nose."

The three oldest Flacks took sips of the deep red wine. Mrs Flack smiled at her husband; he loved a good glass of wine; she looked at the color of it and how the light reflected off of it in the glass. "It has a nice color."

Don Sr smiled at her over the top of his glass; "That it does. Sam use your spoon to twirl."

Samantha glared down at her plate; it sucked that at nine years old she still couldn't twirl pasta around her fork without the help of a spoon. She took a sip of the watered down wine that was sitting next to her glass of milk. "This tastes weird."

"It's the oaky undertones." Don Jr said with a sense of smugness, Sam stuck her tongue out at Donnie.

"Samantha don't stick your tongue out." If it wasn't one thing; it was another with her children.

"Donnie don't speak to your sister that way. I think it's oaky; a little too oaky for my taste. I do like the clove undertones though." Don Sr gave his son a gentle warning.

Donnie took another sip of wine; he could kind of taste the clove. But, he was getting a hint of anise too. "Anise?"

"Yes, a hint of anise too." Don Sr twirled a fork of pasta in the fragrant tomato sauce and the entire family started eating in earnest. There were no words spoken as pasta was twirled; chunks of tender meat were chewed; glasses of milk were drunk by the kids; and pieces of the dense white Italian peasant loaf were rubbed through the sauce.

After everyone was done eating; Donnie and Patrick had thirds, and Don had eaten his second plateful Samantha cleared the table and for once didn't have to scrape plates. They'd pretty much been licked clean. Mom got the espresso machine whirring, squealing, and screaming like a small dragon. She made two small cups of espresso; decaf as a concession to sleep. She couldn't drink caffeinated coffee in the afternoon anymore it would keep her up all night. Donnie was doing the dishes; the kids alternated nights with the chores. It was nice that they were old enough to take some of the household chores off her back; it meant she could retire to the living room and sip espresso with her husband and enjoy a few quiet moments alone with him.

**E/N**: Sunday dinner and wine were rituals of my family. Braciole was a holiday ritual of Italian friends I knew. I make Sunday ragu for my husband when I have time; I make it from a friends family recipe which I've been sworn not to share. But, this one from epicurious .com by Gina Marie Miraglia Eriquez is similar.

**Sunday Ragù**

**For tomato sauce**:

5 (28-ounce) cans whole tomatoes in juice (preferably Italian)

1/2 cup olive oil

1 large onion, finely chopped

5 garlic cloves, minced

1 Turkish bay leaf or 1/2 California

**For beef braciole**:

4 garlic cloves, minced

1/2 cup finely chopped flat-leaf parsley

1 cup grated Pecorino Romano (2 ounces)

3 ounces thinly sliced pancetta, finely chopped

1 1/2 pounds beef top round, cut across the grain into 1/4-inch slices

**For meatballs and other meats**:

Reserved meat mixture and frying oil from polpette

1/2 cup olive oil for frying, divided

1 pound sweet Italian sausage links

1 pound hot Italian sausage links

1 1/2 pound boneless pork shoulder, cut into 2-inch pieces

2 pounds country-style pork ribs

**Equipment**: kitchen string

**Accompaniment**: fresh egg fettuccine

**Make tomato sauce**: Pulse tomatoes with juice (1 can at a time) in a blender until almost smooth.

Heat oil in a wide 10-to 12-quarts heavy pot over medium-high heat until it shimmers, then sauté onion until golden, about 6 minutes. Add garlic and sauté 1 minute.

Add tomato purée, bay leaf, and 1/2 teaspoon salt and simmer, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until thickened, 40 to 45 minutes. Discard bay leaf.

Make braciole while sauce simmers: Stir together garlic, parsley, cheese, and pancetta.

Pound top round to 1/8 inch thick between 2 sheets of plastic wrap with a rolling pin or meat pounder. Spoon parsley mixture evenly over beef cutlets (about 3 tablespoons each). Starting with a short side, roll up cutlets and tie at each end with string to make braciole.

**Make meatballs**: Form reserved meatball mixture into balls (about 16), using a 1/4-cup measure.

**Cook meats**: Heat 2 tablespoons olive oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over medium heat until it shimmers. Season braciole with 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper (total) and brown well in 2 batches, turning, about 6 minutes per batch. Transfer to a large shallow pan.

Add 2 tablespoons oil to skillet and brown sausage in 2 batches, turning, about 6 minutes per batch. Transfer to pan with braciole.

Pat pork shoulder dry and season with 1/4 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Add 2 tablespoons oil to skillet and brown pork shoulder all over, about 5 minutes. Transfer to pan.

Pat pork ribs dry and season with 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Add remaining 2 tablespoons oil to skillet and brown ribs well in 2 batches, turning, about 6 minutes per batch. Transfer to pan.

Heat reserved oil from polpette in skillet over medium heat until it shimmers. Fry meatballs in 2 batches (do not crowd), turning occasionally, until well browned, about 6 minutes per batch. Transfer to paper towels using a slotted spoon. (Discard oil.)

**Finish ragù**: Return sauce to a simmer and carefully add all meats and juices. Simmer, partially covered, gently stirring occasionally (do not break up meatballs), until all meats are tender, about 2 1/4 hours.

Transfer meats with tongs to a large platter. Serve with fettuccine and remaining sauce.


	7. Paying The Piper

**A/N**: I find the minor characters interesting; and what made people into the adults they are interesting. This particular fic is a look at Maria Flack; the mother of Donald, Patrick James, and Samantha Marie. Thanks to **Afrozenheart412**, **Aschatria**, **Madmush**, **Peckk**, & **Wolfeylady** for reading and keeping on reading – I love you all!

Maria stared down at the checkbook in front of her; another tight month. After the mortgage, electric, gas, water, Don's union fees, groceries, church, and the list went on and on. There wasn't much left; well there really wasn't anything left. . She took another sip of the red wine Don had brought home last week; bills required wine and music. Tony Bennett was today's singer. Maria paused in her calculations to listen to Tony's voice soar. Donnie needed new sneakers, Pat did too but he could probably use an old pair of Donnie's for a while. At least Sam's feet hadn't grown this month. There were only so many ways a dollar could be stretched

Adele, the neighbor two doors down said that St Mark's was having a rummage sale. She could probably pick up some clothes for the kids there. Sammy would whine about them not being new; but, they'd at least be nice. St Mark's was a diocese with a lot of money in it. Don had walked a beat there for a little while a few years ago. Gio needed new pants; it was horrible that his mother didn't notice things like that; but, she was too caught up in her own life: men, alcohol, drugs, … And Gio was just a little taller than Pat; and a little huskier than Donnie; she'd see if there were a couple pairs of jeans at the rummage sale for him. After all he did spend most nights at their house. If she cut the grocery budget for the month by twenty dollars, that would get the kids some clothes at the rummage sale. Maybe she'd find herself a new winter jacket there too.

Groceries this month were going to be interesting. Feeding three kids, (one who was a teenager, and the other two were almost teenagers) a husband, and an extra got interesting some months. Taking the twenty dollars out of the grocery budget meant potatoes a few more nights. Maria figured she could make gnocchi one night; there were a couple jars of red sauce she'd put up in the fall. Maybe Shepherd's Pie a night; there was some Veg-All in the pantry and it would stretch meat a lot further. Don wanted his Wednesday corned beef which was a big chunk of the budget; luckily corning it herself meant she got the brisket trimmings which could be used elsewhere.

It looked like Don might be able to pick up a couple of extra shifts this month which would help on the money front; but, the shifts couldn't be depended on. It was horrible that she wouldn't see him the days he was pulling doubles; but, when they'd made the decision to try for a girl both of them had known that a providing for a large family on a cop's salary would be interesting. Maria worked as a substitute teacher at the local Catholic elementary schools occasionally; cleaned houses when Marta down the street needed a day off; and a couple other things. But, it was never more than one or two days a week and they couldn't depend on it.

_Please God, _Maria prayed, _let me be called in to substitute this month._ The grocery budget could use the money. Marta had been showing her some Chinese recipes that she'd been learning at the Baptist church her family attended; and D'agastino's had rice on sale for nineteen cents a pound. How hard could fried rice be to make? Rice, an egg, some soy sauce, vegetables, and a little meat – that was another night down. Plus, five packages of ramen noodles and there would be soup. Rice and soup, Don wouldn't like it; but, he could suffer through one night.

The mortgage was covered; electric bill paid; water bill paid; and the check for the Police union fees were written. Taking out the twenty dollars for the rummage sale; five dollars for flowers for Mrs T (Maria tried to visit her once a week or so; Mrs Tattaglioni had moved to the retirement home on the other side of Queens and wasn't liking it too much).

"Patrick quit picking on your sister." Marie yelled in an exasperated voice as she heard her two youngest fighting over something in the living room. Grrr… she loved all three of her kids; but, they could drive her to distraction.

Looking back at her list of things that needed to be done in the near term Marie hoped that the budget could squeak out the cost of the brake job that Don said his 1978 Cadillac Seville needed new brake things. He'd written down pads; and said Bob at the auto shop two blocks over could get a pair for $30. They could afford the brakes if she worked a day for Marta or at the school; or if Don got an extra shift.

"Samantha stop antagonizing your brother. Turn off the television. I was listening to the record player; and did not say you could turn it off."

"Ma we don't wanna listen to your music. Tony Bennett sucks; can we at least listen to the radio?"

"Put the record back on. I'm paying bills." Marie heard a moment of quick whispered conversation, rustling in the living room, and then finally 'Just In Time' came on. "Thank you."

She heard Donnie come into the house slamming the door as he came in. Basketball practice must be over; that meant Don would be home soon. Good thing it was a simple dinner tonight; cabbage, potatoes, and a piece of pork shoulder. It was simmering on the stove. "Donnie take your shoes off."

"I'm taking them off." He yelled into the kitchen; Donald Jr knew it was bill day. He was his father's son and knew that it was very good time to stay out of the kitchen, even though he really wanted a snack. But, starting another episode of the '_As The Flack's Turn'_ was not part of his agenda.

It would be a miracle if Donnie remembered to take his shoes off; he always seemed to be tracking mud through the house. It drove her nuts! Marie took pride in the small house that Don and she had bought two years after they'd gotten married. Life was good; she had a wonderful husband, three great kids, and a beautiful little house in a nice neighborhood surrounded by good people.


	8. Disappointed

**Chapter 8**: Disappointed

**A/N**: I found it interesting in one of the two episodes that had Samantha Flack actually appeared in it mentioned that Don mentioned that their father said he wouldn't bail her out any more.

Thank you all for reading my little dips into the Flack family drama's. **Afrozenheart412**, **ASCHATRIA**, **Peckk**, **Runner043**, and **wolfeylady**: Thanks for bearing with me as I feel my through the Flack family. You all make it worthwhile. **Jsmudge**, hope you like this too.

"This is the last time, Samantha." Don Flack Sr wearily told his youngest child as he shook Ronnie Smith's hand. "How you doing, Ronnie?"

"Pretty good. Linda's pregnant."

"Your first?"

"Yeah; Linda's over the moon." He rolled his eyes "Her mom has been over every weekend helping fix up the nursery. They're driving me nuts."

"I remember that with Donnie. By the time you hit the second and third kids they all figure you've got it mostly down pat and kind of leave you alone."

"I've got to survive the first one." Ron took a slurp of the precinct's crap coffee.

"Yeah, I know that. I'll see you soon." Don looked at his wayward daughter. "Come on Samantha. Let's go home."

Samantha blearily looked up at her father; she was starting to get a raging headache. Tomorrow was going to be a bitch. She looked at the clock on the wall and corrected herself: today was going to be a bitch. Dad was going to kick her ass; and ma was going to nag the hell out her. She climbed in her dad's Cadillac, slumped down in the seat and closed her eyes.

"This is the last time Samantha. I'm not bailing you out again." Don fastened his seatbelt and wearily ran his hand down his face. "This is the third time in the last year I've had to come pick you up at a police station." He turned and looked at her as he started the car; Samantha looked awful. Every time Don started up the 1978 Cadillac he loved to listen to the American V8 rumble into action. This time was no exception; no matter how upset he was with his youngest child.

"Yeah, yeah." Sam wished he would stop talking; the headache was getting worse and she really wanted to throw up.

Don shook his head. "It's three am. Your mom is going have some words for you when we get home." He gave her a stare as he turned the corner. "We'll talk in the morning."

They drove the rest of the way home in silence. Don had been drunk more than a few times. God; when he'd been in the service he'd been taken back to the ship a few times by the shore patrol. Sam was going to have heck of a hangover in the morning.

He pulled the Cadillac into the small garage at the back of their lot. "Come on honey; wake up. We're home." He wasn't taking her back to her apartment with her still drunk; besides Maria would kick his ass if he didn't bring her home.

Don pretty much carried a mostly asleep Samantha into the kitchen; Maria looked up from the cup of tea she was sipping. "You got her." It wasn't a question; but, a statement. They'd bailed all three of their kids out of various troubles at various times. With Pat it had been smoking in the bathroom at school and fights. Donnie it had been a couple of fights at school (mostly defending Samantha or their almost son Gio); and a couple of parties that had gotten out of hand. And her baby Sammy it was drinking; every time she'd gotten in trouble in the last five years it had been alcohol related.

Since Sam had graduated and gotten her own place a couple years ago Maria had converted her bedroom into a craft/storage room. She was really hoping to convert it into a nursery for a grandchild or two. But, only after her babies had found spouses, children before marriage was sin in Maria Flack's devout Italian Catholic universe.

"I put blankets and a pillow on the couch for her." She got up from the chair, took Sam's shoes off as Don laid her on the couch; and moved the plastic bucket near Sam's head where she couldn't miss it. "We'll talk to her in the morning."

Don Flack Sr. put his hand comfortingly on his wife's shoulder as they headed upstairs to there bedroom. "It'll work out Maria. We'll figure this out too."

Maria shook her head. "I'm scared for her. I thought after she graduated she'd straighten out and get a real job. Something other than bartending; the money is good. But, she's heading straight into trouble. We can't keep pulling her out of everything she gets into."

"I told her this was the last time I'd bail her out." Don agreed with his wife as he climbed back into the bed he left two hours ago. "We've got to be firm and make sure she finally gets it."

"Yeah." Maria took off her robe and climbed under the quilt she'd made many years ago. "Non mi piace per niente (I don't like it all)." She shook her head emphatically, made the sign of the cross and looked at the ceiling squeezing her eyes shut for a second pleading "Che Dio aiuti a trovare un percorso giusto (God help her find a righteous path)."

Don waited for his wife to finish and turned out the lights. He pulled his wife into him. "We'll figure it out. We always have. I love you. Good Night."

**E/N**: Well, this didn't turn out quite the way I was expecting it to. It is about 180 degrees off where I thought it was going to go. Hope you enjoy it.


	9. A Whimper & A Scream Disappointed pt 2

**Chapter 8**: Disappointed Part 2.

**A/N**: **Jsmudge** here's your Part 2. Hope your wrist is feeling better! **Runner043** thanks for the encouragement. Hope this is up to you alls standards; this chunk isn't flowing like the first one did.

Samantha woke up in the morning and twisted around groaning. Her head felt like it was going to explode; and her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. She opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling. Couch, she was on a couch. She turned her head, the living room. Her parent's living room. There was a chair next to the couch with a glass of water and three aspirin on it; and a bucket beside it. That was Ma. Thank you! Sam sent up a silent prayer of thanks for her awesome mother. Even though she was pretty sure that in about ten minutes she'd want to kill them.

Sam slowly sat up and her head spun; she sipped the water and popped the aspirin. She could hear the radio in the kitchen. Ma was playing country music again. Pam Tillis. "There's peace and then there's chaos, reality and dreams. We're all trying to strike a balance between a whisper and a scream."

God it sounded like a cat in heat in her brain. What had happened last night? Sam could remember bits and pieces; they'd gone out to that new club. Then Tom and Jalen had gotten into a fight. Damnú, shit, the cops had been called. They'd hauled everyone down to the precinct; and she'd called pop to get her out. It always made her feel like she was twelve when something like this happened. Why hadn't she called Donnie? She stood up and held onto the back of the chair waiting for the nausea to subside and headed upstairs for a shower.

"Samantha breakfast will be ready when you get downstairs. I put a toothbrush out for you." Maria called from the kitchen as she heard Sam moving around in the living room.

Donnie didn't preach at her like the 'rents did. _"You need to get a real job." "You need to stop hanging around with THOSE people." "Why do you need a car in the city?" "Why aren't you using your degree?"_ Why the hell hadn't she called him instead of pop? It wasn't like he wasn't a cop. Christ, Donnie was patrolling down at the three-five.

_It's not my fucking fault that I spent four years getting a damn degree in the armpit that is upstate New York and figured out I don't want to be stuck in a cube for the rest of my frigging life_. Sam grumped at herself as she grabbed a towel out of the cabinet and got into the shower. The water poured over her and after a few minutes Sam started to feel human again, she stayed in the shower to brush her teeth letting the water run down her back. She really wasn't ready to deal with her parents; but, sneaking out wasn't an option. Ma and pop were in the kitchen which meant that they could see the front door; and she really wasn't up to climbing out her old bedroom's window like she, Donnie, and Patty used to do when they were younger. Plus, they'd probably hear her. Which meant that route was out. Fuck; this meant that she had to deal with them.

Sam slowly dried off and got dressed in the clothes she'd been wearing last night. As she was running a comb through her long hair; Sam kept thinking: This is going to be a rehash of every fight we've had in the last three years. _I like my life. I like bartending! _

_Okay; breathe in. Breathe out. I can do it. I can deal with them._ Sam thought to herself as she made her way down the stairs toward the certain doom that waited in the kitchen. As she walked into the kitchen she saw her parents sitting at the round table they'd eaten a million meals at. Ma was nursing a cup of coffee and pop had the paper in front of him; but, it wasn't opened which was rare. _Affanculo, fuck, this was going to suck if he hadn't started reading yet_. Pop always read the paper as soon as he got up with his coffee.

Don Sr and Maria watched as their obviously hung-over daughter came into the kitchen. Maria got up and gave her baby girl a glass of iced apple juice. It was something that Sammy had always been able to keep down when she had an upset stomach; and by the looks of it she had one heck of a stomachache.

"We're not going to yell Samantha." Don solemnly looked at his daughter.

"But, we've reached a decision." Maria said, her voice wavering a little. She looked over at her husband and he squeezed her hand in support.

_Okay; this is looking up_. Sam thought to herself. The headache was subsiding a little. _Aspirin must be kicking in. Maybe there won't be a full-blown episode of 'As the Flack's Turn_.'

"Sit down Samantha." Don nodded at her usual chair; and his wife got up to get some dry toast for her. They might be parents, and would never tell their children all of the stories; but, they'd both had some wild times in their younger days. Toast, dry had always worked for Maria when she had a hangover.

_Crap; pops hadn't called her Samantha this many times in ages. Not since…_ Samantha searched her brain for the last time. _Not since she and Bobby had been caught making out behind the school._ Even when he was mad at her there would be one maybe two Samanthas and then it was back to Sam or Sammy.

Maria handed her daughter two slices of toast on a Corelle plate that was almost as old as Patty. "Baby, this has to stop. You can't keep doing this to yourself."

Don's hand moved over his wife's; giving her comfort. "What your mom is saying is we're not bailing you out anymore. Last night was the last time."

He was amazed that he managed to sound so calm. Maria was almost in tears; but, they had to do something. He didn't want to see her get into trouble like Patty had.

Sam was feeling a little fuzzy in the brainpan as Nathan (never Nate) would phrase it. "Huh?" She took a bite of toast.

"Samantha; what your father and I are saying is that you need to clean up your act. Stop drinking so much. I know you like bartending; but, maybe it is time for you to get a real job. We're not going to pull you out of anymore trouble."

"No more three in the morning trips down to precincts. Do the crime, do the time."

_Oh my God! It was too early in the nome, damn, morning for shit like this_. Sam crammed the last of the piece of toast in her mouth. "I'm outta here."

"Samantha!" Don Sr barked. "Sit down."

Sam's temper snapped; her head was pounding again. Another one of the endless lectures was not on her plan for the day. A cup of coffee was though. She kept walking towards the back door. She'd grab a cup of coffee at the Acropolis Diner near the bus stop.

"Samantha!" Don Sr pushed his chair back from the table "You leave now…"

"Or what pop?" Sam turned and yelled back at her father "You're gonna kick my ass like when I was little? Or write me off like you did Patty?"

"Samantha." Maria's hands fluttered as she tried to calm her husband and daughter down. Usually Maria had everything under control; but, in situations like this she would flutter; wanting everyone to be calm and content. "Samantha."

"Don't Samantha me." Sam grabbed the knob to the back door and jerked it open. "Andate tutti a' fanculo! It's not like you love any of us except for your streachalit leathair, fucking, golden boy Donnie!"

"Samantha." Maria gasped out as the back door slammed. She watched the figure of her daughter run towards the back alley and burst into tears. Don Sr couldn't do anything but hold his wife and feel helpless.

Affanculo – (Italian) Fuck

Aggettivò – (Italian) Fucking

Andate tutti a' fanculo! – (Italian) You can all go fuck yourselves!

Damnú – (Gaelic) Shit

Nome – (Italian) Damn

Streachalit leathair – (Gaelic) Fucking

**E/N**: Gotta love the internet. Google is a great thing. Gaelic swear words? Not a problem. Italian? Easy! But, I'm taking these with a grain of salt; and hoping they're right. All I ever learned were a few choice Swedish and French ones. So if I'm off … don't hesitate to tell me.


	10. Pomodoro & Neighbors

**A/N**: Thanks so much to **Gaben** and **Whereintheworld** for being fab betas! This was an airplane fic – as in I wrote it on an airplane. And the sauce (a simple tomato sauce is often called Pomodoro); look in the April issue of Bon Appetit; I stole it lock, stock and freaking barrel. I only wish my mother could cook like Mrs G and Mama Flack. **Jsmudge**, **Peckk**, **Wolfeylady**, **Aschatria**, and **Runner043**: you guys make my day! As for Firefly: Extra Cargo I'm working on it; but, it is really hard (I'm discovering) to conclude a story. But, soon. I swear it'll be done.

**CSI: NY CSI: NY CSI: NY CSI: NY**

Don walked into his small apartment; it was a relief after days like this to come home to his apartment. It might be small, a third story walk-up; but, it was his. Someone was usually cooking so the hall often smelled really good. Except when Jenny Farrell down on two tried to cook, she was newlywed and trying to impress her brand new husband which meant she burned something at least once a week.

Don clicked the TV onto the game and loosened his tie. It was Wednesday, that meant that old Mrs. Giangrosso would be over in an hour. She always stopped over on Wednesday's. He wasn't sure why; but, the company was nice. Changing out of his suit he thought about what was in the cabinet and fridge. A six pack of beer, some cereal, a couple jars of mom's canned tomatoes, pasta, an onion, and a jar of that really nice pre-minced garlic. Yeah, that was pretty much it. So a pasta night it was going to be. He put his gun away with his badge. No need to freak people out; plus, it kept it safe.

Mal (it was short for Malcolm) down at the precinct would be happy tomorrow, his team was winning. Don noticed as he changed into an old pair of gym shorts and a faded t-shirt from the precinct. It didn't have too many holes in it. Mrs. G always gave him crap about wearing t-shirts with holes in them. Heading into the closet that was his kitchen Don grabbed the onion out of the fridge and minced it letting the olive oil heat up in the pan at the same time. Letting the onion soften in the pan he checked his messages; someone trying to sell him new windows and Danny calling to remind him about the basketball game this weekend.

Walking back into the kitchen Don gave the onions a stir and added a spoon of minced garlic to the onions. Ma would pooh-pooh using the jarred pre-minced garlic, but, it was so much easier than having to chop garlic every time he wanted just a little. Plus, it didn't go bad or leave those little pieces of skin all over the fridge. Mmm… The smell of onions and garlic on the stove brought back memories of childhood. Good memories.

He turned and reached into spice drawer, grabbed the crushed red pepper and put a good pinch of it into the onions and turned the heat just a bit. Chelsea had been really impressed last weekend when she'd come over before the benefit he'd escorted her too. Well, she'd been impressed with the fact he had herbs and spices however she hadn't been so impressed with the walk up three flights of stairs.

Commercial break; Don changed the channel to ESPN and grabbed the jar of canned crushed tomatoes his mom had given him last summer. Opening the jar he dumped it into the pan, added a bay leaf and breathed deeply as the smell of the pan completely changed. Yep this brought back memories. Every summer as a kid he, Patty, Sammy, Gio, and whoever else was around got Shanghaied into helping Ma and Mrs. Tattaglioni with canning tomatoes and making tomato sauce. Between the two of them they would put up two or three hundred jars of tomatoes. If their gardens didn't have enough, they'd go buy bushels down at the farmer's market. They'd get the seconds; the ones that the vendors couldn't sell to the Gramercy Park yuppies. And then they'd make him, Patty, Sammy, and Gio cut out the bad spots, and blanch them to get rid of the skins.

Letting the pot simmer he grabbed his single big pot and filled it with water for pasta. Grabbing the salt from the cabinet and the box of angel hair at the same time, Don made a mental note to add pasta to his shopping list. This was his last box, although he did have a lot of Raman. The water would start boiling in about fifteen minutes just enough time to see if there was anything exciting in the mail. The new issue of Maxim was in; that was always good for a few minutes. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge, yep needed to add beer to the grocery list too, and sat down closing his eyes for a second. Just a second.

Bang, bang, bang. Don's eyes snapped open. He looked at the clock; nope the water shouldn't be boiling yet. He reached for his gun. Bang, bang, bang. It was put away. Bang, bang, bang. The disorientation of snapping awake left him as he realized it was the door.

"Hello Mrs. G." Don smiled as he opened the door to the tiny old lady with the magenta cane. She barely came up to his chest.

"Donnie." She nodded. "Good, you cleaned up." She patted his arm; such nice strong arms he had_. Like my Tito had_. "I brought you biscotti; I made some for Sofia at the old folks home."

"Come in Mrs. G; have a seat." Even after living here for almost six months it still kind of weirded him out that Mrs G. came to see him every Wednesday night. "Umm… would you like a beer?" He didn't have any wine; and it was really too late for coffee. _And if he didn't offer her something Ma would come down and kick his ass! _

"I'm making pasta pomodoro, would you like a bowl." Don asked as he went to check the water and stir the sauce one last time. He turned the heat off on the sauce, and added a handful of salt to the water. Nonna always said a handful of salt was good for the pasta; gave it some meat on its ribs.

"You using that bottled stuff?" Senta Giangrosso asked suspiciously sniffing the air. She jiggled her cane; "I'd love a beer. My kids don't buy me any when they do my shopping. I tell them I'm just fine to do my own shopping."

"No Ma'am. I made the sauce. Ma put up the tomatoes last summer." He picked up the canning jar from the sink to show his neighbor as he twisted the top of the bottle and opened the cabinet to get a glass for her beer.

"Donnie, I don't need a glass. Me an' Tito never used glasses." She took the beer and took a big sip watching the boy move surprisingly competently around the small kitchen. He scooped out a cup of the pasta water, grabbed a skillet, and a colander. "So many of you kids these days take silly shortcuts," she lectured.

"Shortcuts?" Don melted some butter in the skillet, drained the pasta, dumped it into the skillet added the sauce and cooked the pasta for another minute.

"Bottled sauce." Senta shuffled to the living room and sat in the comfy chair; her damn hip was bothering her again. "It takes 20 minutes to make good sauce; but, no everyone wants it faster."

Don slurped a noodle up; just right and it had the sheen. The sheen that only butter could give noodles. Using the long tongs ma had given him years ago he twirled the pasta into two bowls. _Looks like I'm not having pasta for lunch tomorrow. Oh, well_. "Do you want cheese?"

"Of course boy. Pasta pomodoro without cheese?" Senta humphed. "No cheese; what do you think I am one of those skinny little super model types you like to date?"

Don chuckled; Mrs. G was actually thinner than most models; she looked like a good wind would blow her away. "No ma'am. Just checking."

Bringing a bowl with a fork in it Don set up a TV table in the front of his favorite chair for Mrs. G and went and got himself a bowl. Don could hear the first slurp of pasta the old lady took.

"Good pasta. Boy, you do good." Dinner with him was one of the highlights of her week; not that she'd tell him that. "You'll make a good husband someday."

"Ummm… Thanks." He set up his own bowl and slurped up a forkful. Mrs G was old school, she didn't use a spoon to eat pasta like some people. Kinda like his ma. "Did you see your story today?"

"Yes, I saw General Hospital." She took a careful sip of beer; ice cold beer was a wonderful thing. _Maybe Donnie would buy her some when he went shopping. His fridge was pretty empty he needed to go soon._ "It was a good day. Sex, drugs, and babies. Do you do a lot of narcotics? Jason and Sam are going to try for a baby? And when you go grocery shopping, can you get me some beer? I like your beer!"

Luckily Don was used to the rapid fire topic changing way that Mrs. G talked. Sam and Jason were characters; he'd seen them on her show the last time he'd been in the hospital. Not that he would tell anyone that he watched General Hospital. "Narcotics?" he paused, that one caught him a little off guard; but, he quickly pieced it together as he took a bite of the silky angel hair. "Nope, I'm a homicide detective. Like, on Law and Order."

"Oooh, I like that Lenny Briscoe." Mrs. G wagged her eyebrows as she slurped up a mouthful of pasta. _The boy can cook_. "He's a hotty. There's supposed to be a murder tomorrow. I like the babies better. Blood is really hard to get out of clothes; ammonia works on most stuff. Shampoo sometimes works; or salt; but, ammonia is best."

"Uh huh." Don just nodded and slurped his pasta; not too much you could say to that. Ammonia; hmmm… He'd never tried that one on his shirts. "You don't like that new detective they have?"

"Fontaine; no. He's too greasy, looks like one of them mobbed up guys; not a detective. He's not a… a… Stud-muffin! A Stud-muffin like you and that Lenny Briscoe." Senta was really proud of herself; she remembered stud-muffin; the word her grand-daughter had used to describe some baby, Jonas or something. He was twelve!

Donnie just about choked on his beer. A stud-muffin. "Mrs. G, a stud-muffin? Really."

She waved her fork at him. "Now you're just fishing for compliments. Plus, you got good suits. You still going up to Marco?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Don shook his head. Mrs. G, she could always brighten the conversation it made his week! "Your Marco is good."

Senta just nodded her head and slurped the last forkful of glossy red coated noodles out of the bowl. Marco, her sister's son's wife's brother – he was a really good tailor.

Don forked up another fork of noodles as he looked over at the television which had been playing mostly forgotten in the background. At the slurping sound that Mrs. G was making he looked over to see if she needed another beer and his eyes went wide; she'd just eaten half a box of angel hair! He looked down at his bowl. He hadn't even gotten half-way through his pasta. And there was a little more in the pan – because he'd given her the larger bowl of pasta accidently. "Do you want some more pasta? There's a little more in the pan."

Senta looked down at her bowl. "Mmmm…" She really shouldn't; but, it was so good. She looked up at the tall detective; it would be taking food from the mouth of a babe; he needed it much more than she did.

He saw the pursing of her lips and got up and filled her bowl with the rest of the pasta in the pan. "Eat."

Chortling a little. "You sound just like my daughter, Lucy when she talks to her kids." She pitched her voice higher and waggled her finger. "Eat. Eat. It's good for you."

Don chuckled; his mom had used the same finger wave and tone of voice. "Ma, said the exact same thing. Especially on spinach night. None of us liked spinach."

Senta's only response was a slurp. She forked up another mouthful of noodles. The last slurp of noodles. Don watched wide-eyed, for a little tiny woman Mrs. G sure could eat a lot.

"You do good young un." She nodded; jerking her head to point at the now empty bowl.

"Thanks." Don finished his bowl of pasta keeping one eye on the TV. The scores were rolling across it. He stood up and grabbed his bowl, fork, and empty beer bottle reached across and grabbed Mrs G's empty stuff. Taking the three steps into the kitchen he put the bottles into the recycling container, and the dishes in the sink. He dumped the stopper into the drain and filled the sink with water, adding a squirt of soap. It would have been really nice if this place had a dishwasher; but, the rent was right. And he got a discount because he was a cop. Don tossed the pan into the sink and went to check on Mrs G. He started because she was standing in the doorway staring at the sink shaking her head.

"You'll make a good husband. I knew my Tito would be a good husband when he washed the dishes." Senta pointed her pretty new cane at Don and kept on. "I gotta go; my little Lucy will be calling soon. I think she feels I have no life or something. Bah."

Don watched Senta Giangrosso leave his apartment and shook his head. They didn't make women like that anymore. She was pure old country.


	11. Heart Of Dixie

**A/N**: Thank you all so much for staying with me through this journey of mostly unconnected ficlets. **Afrozenheart412**, **Countrygirl83**, **gaben**, **Runner043**, and **Sporting Angel** you all rock! Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting and alerting; love you all!

And last of all a huge thanks to **gaben** and **Whereinthewrld** for betaing!

**Chapter 9**: Heart of Dixie

Don walked up the street towards his apartment in the cool fall air shaking his head because he could already see his crazy neighbor sitting on the stoop. Mrs. Giangrosso. She wasn't crazy; just a true blue New Yorker. She color coordinated her canes to her eyeglasses. It was all her fault that he'd gone to dinner at her grand-son's fourth grade teacher's sister's apartment. Rae Lynn Higdon and her older sister Joellen Leigh Higdon, it was weird getting introduced to someone by three names. And that was after he actually figured out what they were saying! Subtitles would have been nice.

"How was it?" Mrs. G tromped her cane on the stairs squinting at him from her perch on the stoop.

"Work. It was fine." Don played along, Mrs. G was as impatient as well… Danny. "How was your story today?"

She thumped her cane on the tall detective's foot and struggled to stand up. "Hmph." Mrs. G accepted the help Don offered. "I'm not talking about that. How was dinner with Daisy and Dixie?"

Don chuckled at her attempt at an Alabama accent. "Tell you over a beer?" He shook his head at the bad southern accent attempted by someone who spoke pure Brooklyn crossed with Italian.

"Please." The octogenarian said in a very prim voice. She enjoyed their Wednesday night ritual as much as Don did. "I left cookies on your doorknob. Unless that little hooligan took them. You have that sports show?"

"I do, and I went to the grocery store." Don looked down at his neighbor as they slowly made their way up the stairs. "If you would prefer a nice cup of tea."

"Hmph! You've been talking to my Lucy. Tell me about dinner!" Mrs. G thumped her cane to emphasize her words.

Don picked the bag off the door knob, and smirked as he drew out information from Mrs G with ambiguous answers. "It was interesting." He tossed his jacket over the little table by the door, and put his gun, badge, and wallet into the drawer. "They eat strangely."

He set the cookies on his counter and pulled two beers out of the fridge as Mrs. G settled into HIS big chair. His chair, his favorite chair, sized for his six foot two frame, and now all five foot nothing of her had claimed HIS chair. And there was no way on God's green earth that he would move her! Or ask her to move! Ma would drive in and whup his ass with her wooden spoon, so he just respectfully handed his elder a bottle of chilled beer.

"Well, what did you eat? What did you talk about?" She rattled off questions like a USMC drill sergeant rattling off insults at a recruit. Don tried to keep the questions straight; as the wayward thought popped into his head. Speaking of Marines he needed to requalify on the pistol range next week. "What does their apartment look like? How bad were their accents? Do they really drink tea cold?"

"Wow, you really know your stereotypes." Don chuckled. _Boy, next she'd be profiling_, he thought. "Yeah, their accents were really broad. It was hard to understand them sometimes." He paused. "Well, more than sometimes."

The lanky detective slouched into the couch, his back wishing for his comfy chair. "Their apartment was pretty. A two bedroom. They decorated in a lot of pink, and had pictures of big white flowers. Magnolias they called him. And a building called Tara."

Mrs. G slurped beer, while Don described their apartment with the fancy curtains. As soon as he took a breath, she jumped in with "Do they drink really drink tea cold?"

"And sweet." He knew that she'd want full details. "They served it in tall glasses with lots of ice. Apparently if you are from Alabama for one gallon of water you need eight Lipton tea bags and three-quarters cup sugar. Or if you are Joellen's boyfriend, Joe, from Georgia, its eight Red Rose tea bags and one and one-quarter cups of sugar."

"Cold? And sweet?" Mrs G shook her head. Tea was drunk hot with lemon it. Or a little bit of milk. Unless you were her daughter-in-law, then it was hot with five tablespoons of sugar in it.

"It was so sweet that it made your teeth ache." Don shook his head at the memory. "And then Joe started talking about _The War Of Northern Oppression_."

"Huh?"

"The Civil War." Don shuddered at the memory of that discussion between Joe and John another New Yorker that had been invited to dinner. "It was quite an argument. The South should have won because they had better tactics, better Generals, blah… blah… blah..."

Mrs. Giangrosso screwed up her face; that wasn't what she'd learned in school.

"Yeah, I know." Don drank some of his beer. "It was weird."

"What about the food?"

"Fried okra, a sweet pickle tray, and sweet tea to open the meal. The fried okra was pretty good." He took another swallow. "Then we had fried pork chops, with fried apples, collard greens, and mashed potatoes."

"That's a lot of fried food. Fried apples?" She took the last swallow of beer in her bottle and waved it at Don. He nodded and got her another along with a glass of water. "How do you fry an apple?"

"I'm not sure; but, it was really good. Kind of caramelly and sweet."

"Like a dessert?"

"Yeah, like some apple pie filling. It actually tasted good with fried pork chops. The collard greens were kind of weird, like tough spinach with ham in it and kind of vinegary and a little spicy."

"Good?"

Don never thought he'd have said it. "Yeah, it was good. They're amazing cooks! The food was completely different than anything I'd ever had before."

"Huh. Lot of frying." Mrs. G commented off-handedly with her eyes on the television.

"Yeah, Joe told me that the girls were looking at getting a Fry Daddy for themselves instead of the Fry Baby their mom gave Rae Lynn when she went to college. Rae Lynn is the older one."

"Fry Baby?"

"It's a deep fryer thing." Don gestured trying to describe that it was about the size of a small soup pot. "Apparently the Fry Daddy can do most of a chicken at once. It's better for most things. Rae Lynn said that crowding things in a fryer is bad. And that their momma's specialty is fried chicken."

Mrs. G kind of cocked her head at that. "I want to meet them." She said emphatically waving the beer bottle around for emphasis. "You should host a dinner party!"

Don rolled his eyes. "Here?" He looked at his tiny apartment and the table that could seat four if they were best friends. He cocked an eye at the bag of cookies sitting on his counter; he'd peeked into it and it was lemon cookies! Anginetti was the proper name. Out of all the cookies she made, anginetti were his favorite.

Senta Giangrosso looked around the small apartment. "Well, maybe I will host." She glanced at the television set. "Your show is starting." The opening sequence to Sport Center was just starting up. "Did they make those tomato things?"

"Huh?" The detective was distracted by the thought of cookies, he really wanted one now. But, was still really full from dinner. And he did have his girlish figure to think about.

"Umm…" Mrs. G, Don couldn't think of her as Senta, or Mrs Giangrosso. She snapped her fingers and closed her eyes trying to remember the meal that she and Tito had eaten on that trip they'd taken years ago to the Carolinas. "Mmmm… 'Fried green tomatoes.' Yes, that's it. Fried green tomatoes, they were really good, especially with bacon and mayonnaise in a sandwich."

"Fried green tomatoes? Wasn't that a movie?" Mrs G glared at him, set down her empty beer bottle and picked up the glass of water.

Don just chuckled and kept talking. "Nope, none of them. Just fried okra, pork chops, and apples. Rae Lynn said her momma made a fried apple pie that was amazing."

"You tell them girls that they need to make you fried green tomato sandwiches!" This time she wagged the glass of water to emphasize her point.

"Uh huh." The tall detective nodded, distracted by the update on football. Mrs G also got sucked into the show. She liked the tight butts that the men had in football. They weren't quite as nice in baseball; but, it was still watchable.

**E/N**: And time for a shameless plug for my other stories. Check them out, I've another CSI: NY ficlet series about Lindsey and her Montana traditions. And a story about tea and Hetty over in the NCIS: Los Angeles fandom; and a couple of pretty awesome ones in Leverage. So sally forth and read!


	12. Perfect Days

**Chapter 10**: Perfect Days

Episode tag from Season 5 Episode 20: Prey.

Don Flack: "I am truly sorry for your loss. I have a sister too."

Victim's brother: "Don't ever take that for granted."

**A/N**: I know this is an occasional series, I write when my fancy strikes. I wish I could be one of those authors who could pump out 1,000 awesome words every few days. Instead I struggle over the words I post every few weeks. I hope that people like them. I know that they are words that resonate with me. Stories I want to tell, some of them are stories I need to tell. **Aacountdeleted**, **afrozenheart412**, **Countrygirl83**, **DegrassiFan1994**, **ermintrude421**, **Gaben**, **jsmudge**, **Mackezie L**, **Mysticsnowraven**, **Peckk**, **Runner043**, **Sporting Angel**, and **wolfeylady** thanks for giving me your time. And thanks for taking the time to review, favorite, and alert. I know that it takes effort to put yourself out there, thank you! I appreciate it.

CSI: NY CSI: NY CSI: NY

The words "Don't ever take it for granted" was still ringing in his head that night as Don sat in his apartment finishing a beer. The game was on in the background; but, he was staring at a small picture on the end table. It was a picture of him, Sam, and Patrick at the shore. He had to have been what thirteen, Pat was probably eleven, and that made Sam eight or nine or something like that. God, she'd been all knees and elbows. And Patty…

He lifted the bottle in a mock salute to the topic they never talked about. Patrick. "As The Flack's Turn." Don muttered to himself.

He stared at the empty bottle and contemplated getting a second one. Yeah, he needed another one. He stretched as he got another beer from the fridge. Well, at least he wasn't his sister. He really should check on her.

Don stared at the picture some more and remembered that day. It had started off grey and gloomy. With a little bit of drizzle. Sam had been sulking because she'd really wanted to go the beach; but, ma said it would clear up and she and the boys could go when the sun came out.

Yeah, it had been a good day. Pop had tossed them a deck of cards and told them all to 'shadd up and go play cards on the porch. I ain't had my first cup of coffee yet.' Looking back it had been a nice night, his parents and the Giotti's who had the bungalow next door had been up late talking. Don was willing to be his dad had one heck of a hangover.

Don had made Patty and Sam cinnamon toast which they'd eaten while drinking root beer and playing gin rummy out on the deck. Patty had won; but, then again he always did when they played cards.

They'd played to five hundred points before the sun came out. And mom and dad had gotten back up. They'd been stumbling into the kitchen to make brunch as mom had called it. Then Sam had flounced into the kitchen in her swimsuit and one of dad's old t-shirts and announced that they were going to the beach.

Don had stood up to stop her; but, Sam had shoved past him. It surprised Don; but, they'd just let them go. With the warning that Don and Patrick watch out for Samantha. With a wave they were off to the beach.

Don drank his beer and thought to himself. "God that was a perfect day. Sun, sand, and he'd met Mary. Mary! Damn, she was gorgeous! Yeah, those had been some good days!" Even after all these years he could still almost taste the salt on her lips.

They hadn't thought to put sunscreen on that day and had all ended up with somewhat of a burn. Sam had gotten a pretty bad on her nose and it had peeled something fierce. Yeah, that had been a good day! One of those perfect childhood memories.

Getting ready for bed; Don thought he'd better check on Sam tomorrow or the next day. See how she was doing, if she was still going to meetings.

**E/N**: This is short. I know; but, it seems right – at least to me. And now a shameless plug for my other fics I've got another CSI: NY fic, it's also a series of shorts with no relation between the chapters and timeline. A pair of Leverage fics, one about Eliot and one about Alec. And many Firefly fics. So go forth and read!


	13. Baptism

**A/N**: Out of all the fics I write; this one for some reason is the nearest to my heart. Well, except for maybe Books; but, I did grow up in a bookstore. **BrightBlues123**, **Gaben**, ** . **, and **mcgregor2001** thank you all so much for reading and then alerting, favoriting and reviewing! Taking the time out of reading to review really means a lot to me; like it does to all authors. And **Gaben**: Thank you so much for being my ever patient beta! Without you, these would never happen. Oh, and don't forget to read the End Notes.

**Baptism**

In his entire life, Donald Flack Junior could remember exactly once when his family hadn't gone to mass. The last time had had been when his little brother Patrick had been baptized. And that was kind of a hazy memory. He remembered lots of hugging and people cooing at the stinky baby. And cake, there had been cake; cake was good. And all of the cousins had come over to play, although that wasn't that strange. Most of them lived within a few block and the Flack's saw them most Sunday's at morning mass and then late for Sunday dinner. It was usually a pot-luck meal at one of their houses.

But, this was a special Sunday. It was the baptism of baby Samantha. Donnie stared down at his new shoes. Mommy had gotten both him and Patty shiny new black shoes to go with their church clothes. She said that is was a special day because his little sister was now old enough for Father Farrell to baptize her and take away her 'rignal sin.

Father Farrell told him and Patrick that babies didn't like lots of interruption in their schedule. Lots of big words he used. But the no 'terruptions meant that the Flack family got to skip mass this morning. They were going to the church after the morning mass and that was when baby Samantha would get baptized in a special ceremony that included the prayers they said every week in mass. Donny figured that Father Farrell was right, who needed to sit through mass twice in one day! The best thing was that this week everyone was going to come over to their house for food, and a party.

Momma hadn't been feeling too good since the baby had been born. She'd had to have someone cut her belly open. So daddy had been staying home with them for the last couple weeks and making dinner and lunch and cleaning house and stuff like that. His dinner sucked, they didn't get Wednesday night corned beef which just plain sucked. Last night they'd had tuna sandwiches. Pop had even forgotten to put in the pickles. Momma always put chopped pickles into her tuna salad. Pickles were yummy.

So now he was stuck outside the church holding his younger brother Patty's hand and listening to him whine. Well, it wasn't really outside, outside. Just outside where they said mass. There was a chair for Momma and dad was holding the baby because Mom's belly was still hurt. Daddy had said that it would be a few more weeks before it was all healed, kind of like when he'd cut his arm and had to get stitches.

This afternoon was going to be lots and lots of fun! Nonna and Poppa were coming over as well as lots of the cousins who didn't live near them. Nonna and Mrs Benedict had been cooking lots and lots of food for everyone, which was really good! Because Donnie didn't think the cousins, the neighbors, and all Dad's cop foods woulda liked his tuna sandwiches.

There was going to be music. Mr Benedict had brought over his accordion, and Poppa had his guitar, and cousin Joe brought his trumpet. And there would be more! There would be singing and dancing and lots and lots of fun.

Looking up at the big cross holding Patty's hand, Donnie was feeling pretty weird. He could hear the mass going on inside. Pop had said that they'd put speakers in a couple years ago so that everyone could hear really good. Not going to mass was really weird. Everyone else was inside: Nonna, Poppa, Cousin Joe, the Benedict's; the neighbor's Mr and Mrs Burke; the Jarvis's who volunteered with Mrs Burke down at the Police Auxiliary thrift shop. And everyone else was in the church too… Cousin Joe, Mr and Mrs Lipinski, Mr Kuzmano from down the street, yep everyone was going to be there! Mr Kuzmano had even gone and gotten Mrs Tattaglioni from the nursing home.

Yeah, it was a big day. Donnie was feeling really hungry. "Pop. Pop. Pop!"

"Yes, Don?" The big man looked down at his son being careful not to jostle Samantha who was dozing in his arms.

"I'm hungry." Donald Flack Jr looked up at his namesake and shook his little brother's hand. "Patty is too."

"Really." The father of three knew how this game was played. "Why didn't you eat all of your breakfast then?"

"Wasn't hungry."

"You'll have to wait till we get home." Round one was over.

"But, daddy." Patrick chimed in. "We're hong-g-g-ry."

"Yeah. We're hungry now."

"Donald. Patrick."

"Yes, momma?" Both boy's eyes lit up. Hopefully, she'd have something in her purse; mom always had food in her purse when they came to church.

"Your father said wait until we get home." When they went to interrupt her, Maria added sternly "Listen to your father. And no whining." She shook her finger at both of them as Father Farrell came out to bring them up to the Alter to baptize baby Samantha.

Donald Flack Sr adjusted Samantha in his arms a little so he could put one hand on his beautiful wife's back and escort her into the church. "A momentous day for the Flacks, my dear. Thank you."

Maria looked at him as they walked down the aisle into the mostly empty church with the two boys trailing behind them.

"Thank you for being my wife. And thank you for giving us this wonderful family."

**E/N**: I know that my Author's Notes and End Notes are really annoying; but, they are how I give thanks, do shameless plugs, and ask for ideas. This is short. I know; but, it might become a two-part story. With the second part actually going into what happens during the baptism. And now a shameless plug for my other fics I've got another CSI: NY fic, it's also a series of shorts with no relation between the chapters and timeline. A few Leverage fics, an NCSI: Los Angeles fic, and many Firefly fics. So go forth and read! And don't forget to spend that minute and write reviews. Cheers! MissGuenever


	14. Baptism pt 2

A/N: Another fic by me with more long author's notes. I just feel that it is really important to thank everyone that reads this upfront! I know that I appreciate (really really appreciate) everyone that takes time to read, review, alert, and favorite! You all mean the world to me: **candygirl28**, **CaskettLover726**, **Gaben**, **Sarah310592**, **slbwhitewolf**, **Skyrunner70**, and **Valawenel. Gaben** thanks for being the inspiration and plot provider for the second half of this story!

**Baptism, Part II**

**CSI: NY – CSI: NY – CSI: NY**

As Donald Jr, and his younger brother Patrick passed the front pew and headed towards the altar behind their parents and baby sister, Nonna grabbed them and sat the two boys between her and Poppa, her husband of fifty-two years. Donnie scowled down at his, now not quite so shiny shoes, and wondered to himself why he couldn't be up at the altar where all the action was taking place. It just wasn't fair!

"No only the little-one, angels. The parents and the God-parents go up to the font," whispered his grandmother, Nonna as she was known by her six children. Poppa took Patty's hand and squeezed gently when the toddler started squirming.

Donnie was disappointed, but somewhat relieved that he hadn't mucked up the holy ceremony. The Roman Catholic Church was very important in the Flack family; in fact it came down from both the Irish and the Italian sides of the family. Donnie accepted his place and position in the church and watched the proceedings from the front pew with his grandparents. At least he had a better view than his cousin, Thomas Ronald Flack Newberry. Tommy was a bully! He constantly ribbed him all through the baseball game when he'd had been staying with them for the week and sat in the front row at the borough's championship game. Donnie hoped this was at least comparable, well he figured it had to be; it wasn't every day you got to see the 'riginal' sin and the devil washed out of your sister. At the very least Donnie hoped that once baptized and the devil gone, Sammie might even smell better!

Donnie and Patrick watched as Samantha Marie Flack's Godparent's, the Bonaducci's from down the block walked up to the altar to join Donald r and Maria Flack. Actually, Mom said that they were related to them somehow. Some type of cousin; Donnie really didn't understand how they were related or why Sammy needed another set of parents! As gathered in the church watched and Nonna and Poppa told the boys that Godparent's were like backup and were almost as important as older brothers. Almost; but, not quite. Which was a good thing; because, Donnie was going to be the bestest big brother ever! Donnie thought to himself as he watched his dad hold the tiny little girl in her hands. Most of her body fit in one of his giant hands! Samantha was really pretty small. She'd need lots of back-up forever and ever; especially if she stayed really little.

Father Farrell, put a white cloth over Samantha and then said prayers while he put some different slimy stuff all over her forehead. Nonna whispered to him and Patty that it was oil and that it would protect baby Samantha and that it sealed her with the gifts of the Holy Spirit.

"Really special oil." Don relayed in a whispered tone at Patrick.

Patty just nodded; he was pretty bored and didn't really care. It was almost lunch time! And he wanted the cookies he'd seen on the counter that morning.

Donnie couldn't hear what Father Farrell was saying, he was kind of mumbling. But, Nonna and Poppa must have known because they were saying the prayers with him and everyone was talking real fast. They were mumbling something about Jordan and water, which was weird because Jordan lived down the block; and he wasn't here. It was really hard to concentrate; Patty was hungry and whispering that he wanted cookies, and that was making Donnie even hungrier.

Father Farrell started to pour the holy water over baby Samantha's head, and wash away her sins and give her the holy strength to push the devil away. Donnie smiled as Father Farrell said I baptize you Samantha Marie Flack, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Just then Donnie's stomach rumbled. To him it seemed to echo throughout the whole entire church! He stared up at the cross and sunk down next to Nonna, "Pardon me, Lord Jesus" he whispered and bowed his head, hoping no one noticed.

Maria Chiarina Flack, Donnie's grandmother frowned and realized that the boys really hadn't eaten much breakfast with all the hubbub that had been going on in the house. She rummaged in her large purse, borsa di morte, Maria called it: Satchel of death. Maria searched around her bag, under the umbrella, her wallet, a scarf, lipstick, and finally pulled out a bag of Cheerios. She would have preferred to give the boys something a little more wholesome; but, most foods made a big mess. Also, her daughter Maria always seemed to have boxes of these oat things in the kitchen.

Donnie watched as Samantha was handed back to their parents, she was squalling a little because the only curl on her head was all wet. And some water was running down her head. As soon as they family stepped off the altar, everyone in the church stood up to welcome the little one. Donald Flack Sr held out his hand for Donny as he walked down the aisle towards the door leading out. Donny swallowed the last of the Cheerios he was holding and ran to Pop and took the offered hand, while Patty run to mommy. And as a family they walked down the aisle.

This was truly a momentous day! Donald Sr, clasped his namesake's hand a little more firmly for a second, looked at his daughter and took a second as he followed his wife and youngest son up the aisle to say another prayer of thanksgiving:

_Lord, You have loved us, and given me this family and these friends._

_May we make a true home for these children where they will learn trust in us and in You._

_We ask this through Christ Our Lord._

_Amen._

**E/N**: Many, many thanks to **Gaben** for her amazing help on this fic! It would not be the same without her, she provided me with most of the religious information. And Google translate gave me borsa di morte, satchel of death, which is what my husband calls my purse. He hates my REALLY large purse; but, then always goes and sticks stuff in it. Sheesh… The prayer is a version of one I found on 2heartsnetwork dot org; I'm not taking credit for it.

And lastly – a shameless plug for the rest of my fics! Go click on my profile and read them (then spend the time reviewing them)


	15. Potted Meatballs

**A/N**: Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, and favoriting… I really appreciate it! You all rock my world: **candygirl28**, **CaskettLover726**, **gaben**, **jems08**, **Leslie Emm**, **LesleyAnn87**, **Sarah310592**, and **Skyrunner70**. And a super special thanks to **gaben**, the most amazing beta in the world, who deals with all of my insecurities! And if you need more reading material, check out my other fics (yes, it's an unashamed plug).

**Potted Meatballs** (Or how to write two thousand words about nothing at all)

Don slowly walked up the stairs to his apartment, every bone in his body ached. To put it mildly; today had sucked! He'd ended up pulling a double shift, chasing a shoplifter three blocks only to lose him, and Jane had broken up with him by text message at lunch. Yeah, a beer or something stronger sounded really good. Well, that a hot shower, and the latest Sports Center.

Slowly unlocking the door he dumped his gun and keys in the drawer by the door and dropped a trail of clothes all the way across the living room ending with his boxer's just inside the bathroom door. After turning on the shower to hot, he went back to the kitchen buck naked and grabbed a beer from the fridge drinking half of it in the ten steps it took him to get back into the shower where he just stood under the hot spray letting the dust, dirt and general grime from the day just wash off him.

He finished the beer while he ran a comb through his hair. _Yep, needed a haircut before he went home for dinner on Sunday_. Ma would give him no end of crap if he showed up at church with shaggy hair.

Don pulled on a pair of baggy basketball shorts and an old soft t-shirt, grabbed a second beer and was just settling into his big comfy chair when he heard it. The sound he both loved and hated depending on the day. _Thump, thump, thump_. Today he just closed his eyes and dreaded what was going to come next. _Thump, thump, thump_. And then _bang, bang, bang_. Mrs. G. Well, Mrs. Giangrosso, Senta Giangrosso to be specific was banging her cane on his door. Today of all days, when he had a headache that was threatening to come screaming in and his entire body just ached, he was just not in the mood to deal with his rather eccentric neighbor.

"Donnie. Donnie!" Bang, bang, bang. Her cane thumping against the bottom of his door.

"Coming Mrs. G." Don heaved himself off his chair and opened the door to his small apartment to see Mrs. G wearing her construction worker orange glasses with matching cane. It was of course paired with her typical all black mourning attire; it looked rather like Halloween.

Mrs. Giangrosso held her cane up; she was a little out of breath, and then she pushed out her other hand which held one of her shopping bags. "Take this."

Don took the bag, "Come in." He gestured into his apartment noting the line of clothes going to the bathroom, at least his boxers weren't right out in the living-room! "Ummm… Sorry… About the mess." He set the bag gently on the table having noted the clink of the china when he'd taken the bag from the elderly lady. Not that he'd ever call Mrs. G elderly or old to her face! Hell, she had more energy most of the time than he could ever hope!

"Hmph." Senta turned her nose up at the mess in the apartment; but, then again she remembered the days when she and Tito had just gotten married. They'd been struggling to make ends meet, both of them working as many hours as they could trying to save some money. Yes, their apartment had been pretty messy. "Hard day, Donnie?"

"Yeah." Don went to the fridge "Would you like a beer?" He knew that Mrs G liked beer; and that when her kids did the grocery shopping for her, they never got her beer. "How'd you know that I had a hard day?"

"I share a wall with you." Mrs G rolled her eyes. _Sheesh_, she thought to herself and mumbled under her breath."Non sono completamente senile! I am not completely senile!" Adding out loud "And you got home nine hours later than you usually do." Her New York Italian accent got a little broader as she rebuked him. "You need to make sure you eat, you're too skinny!" She thunked her cane on the carpet, and gestured at the bag. "I brought you dinner."

Don's eyes lit up. Food! His fridge was pretty empty, he only had pickles, mustard, and ketchup. He dove at the bag and pulled out two big bowls of meatballs with rice and saucy stuff. "Meatballs!"

"Yiddish meatballs." Senta stomped her cane with authority, "I learned to make them from Sarah Schulberg, the mother of Sarah Schulberg who lives down the block." She gestured vaguely towards the south. Sarah the younger has two children Ann Sarah and David Chargaff. You and your sister fall somewhere in age between Sarah and Ann Sarah." _The keeping of the same names from generation to generation was just confusing! Tito and I never done that._

As it often happened with Mrs. G Don just nodded pretending to understand. He vaguely remembered being introduced to a Sarah. So, he grabbed silverware and his TV trays out and gestured to his favorite neighbor to sit down. As usual she took HIS favorite chair. He opened a bottle of the brown ale he'd gotten the day before at the bodega down the block and set it on the TV tray in front of Mrs. G; then passed her some silverware and the hot bowl she'd brought over.

Don grabbed his bowl and sat down heavily on the couch with a beer and silverware. Meatballs! His Gram had always made them when it stormed, or was cold, or he was home sick. He smelled the meatballs, and cocked an eyebrow at Mrs. G these didn't smell like tomatoes, burgundy wine, onions, and a couple of other things. "What's a Yiddish meatball?"

"Mmm… Hmph… Grgshrmsh…" Senta waved her fork around trying to explain around a big mouthful of meatball and rice. Lord, this made her think of Tito! They used to eat meatballs and listen to the Brooklyn Dodgers on the radio; before the rat-finks defected! And then a couple years later they got a television and watched the Mets while eating meatballs. She finished her bite and continued, "sweet and sour. Not one of those tomato sauce Italian type things we grew up with…"

Don took a bite and tasted the hint of lemon, the molasses, the tomato, and the sweetness of the onion. Not at all like his Gram's because there was rice in the meatballs. But, really good none the less! "This is really good!" He exclaimed.

"Comfort food." Senta responded while mushing her meatballs and sauce into the rice. "Me and Tito we used to eat this and watch the baseball. You going to put that sport show thing on?"

"Huh?"

"That short one," said Mrs Giangrosso. "The one with the words on the side of the screen and that hunk of a guy that sits behind the desk."

"Sports Center?"

"Yeah, that one." She chomped down another bite of meatball, rice and sauce. "My Tito, he liked it all separate: The meatballs, the rice, the sauce. Me, I like it all mushed up together."

Don flipped on ESPN and carefully mushed half of a meatball into some sauce and a spoonful of rice and then tasted it. "Pretty good." He took a slurp of the brown ale and then took a bite of just rice with sauce, and a second bite of meatball. "I think I agree with Tito. I like it separate."

"Mmmph…" Senta slurped her beer. This was a good boy; his momma raised him right.

"Hmmm…" He gestured at the television. DVR was a wonderful thing!

"Ohh… Good. Hot bod is on. I bet he's good in the sack." Mrs. G gestured at the television as she took a bite of her mushed meatballs and watched her neighbor's ears turn red. _Lordy, the younger generation was so easy. Did they think they invented sex?_

**E/N**: The recipe for potted meatballs is real, I got it from Arthur Schwartz's Jewish Home Cooking: Yiddish Recipes Revisited (Ten Speed Press, 2008). And yes I know – all of my stories revolve around food. But, life revolves around meals; and the meals we take with people. This is one of my current favorite crappy weather recipes. And it's the little moments like this one between Don Flack and Mrs Giangrosso that make life worthwhile!

So, anyway go and read my other fics. I've got some on Leverage, Firefly, and NCIS: Los Angeles. Read, review and enjoy!

**Potted Sweet-And-Sour Meatballs**

**Sweet-and-Sour Sauce:**

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

1 medium onion, finely minced

2 (15-ounce) cans tomato sauce

1/2 cup water

1/2 teaspoon sour salt, or the juice of 1 lemon (about 2 tablespoons)

1/4 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

**Meatballs**:

2 pounds ground chuck

2 eggs, beaten

1/3 cup long-grain rice, parboiled for 3 minutes (_I like one ounce better_)

1 cup fresh breadcrumbs from challah or good quality supermarket white bread (with crusts)

1 medium onion, grated on the coarse side of a box grater

2 1/4 teaspoons salt

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

To prepare the sauce, in a 5-quart stovetop casserole or Dutch oven, heat the oil, then sauté the minced onion over medium heat until tender and golden, 8 to 10 minutes. Reserve 1/2 cup of the canned tomato sauce to season the meatballs, then add the remaining sauce to the onions. Rinse out both cans with the same 1/2 cup water to loosen any sauce that remains, and add that liquid to the pan. Stir in the sour salt and brown sugar. Bring to a simmer, uncovered, over medium heat. Remove from the heat and set aside.

To make the meatballs, put the ground meat in a large bowl and push it to one side. Put the eggs, rice, breadcrumbs, grated onion, salt and pepper on the other side of the bowl and combine with a large fork. Incorporate the meat into the breadcrumb mixture a little at a time, eventually mixing everything thoroughly.

To cook the meatballs, bring the sauce back to a gentle simmer over medium heat. Using a 1/4-cup measure, make compact meatballs and drop them gently into the sauce. By the time the pot seems full, the first meatballs will be cooked enough and firm enough to push them around gently to fit in more meatballs. You may have to go to a second layer. It's okay if a few meatballs are, at first, not covered with sauce.

Cover and simmer slowly for 30 minutes, gently rotating and pushing the meatballs around after about 15 minutes. Eventually, the sauce will increase enough, and the meatballs will shrink enough, for them to be all covered with sauce. Correct the seasoning with salt and pepper.

Serve very hot, preferably reheated. The meatballs benefit from at least several hours or overnight in the refrigerator. Store in the covered pot (if not aluminum) and reheat over low heat. Makes 24 meatballs, serving 6 to 8.


End file.
